


only love makes you that crazy

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Homophobic Language, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, by my standards anyway so proceed with caution, homophobic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:12:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: Fred’s always considered himself more of a lover than a fighter, which is why he generally tried charming his way out of situations before they escalated. It had done good for him so far, but Alice Smith had always said one of these days his luck was going to run out. He figured maybe that would be true, one day, somewhere in the very distant future.The very distant future turned out to be today.





	only love makes you that crazy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jugheadjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugheadjones/gifts).



> i really named this fic after a stranger things line BEFORE that fuckass finale but ANYWAY.
> 
> happy birthday to my wife julia! this wouldve been posted on the CORRECT DATE BUT THIS WEBSITE WAS BEING HOME OF PHOBIC
> 
> anyway, to everyone else if you havent read the tags and are sensitive to any form of homophobia uh... proceed with caution. and i feel like i should apologize to marty but also he canonically beats his son so like idk if i need to? im torn

There’s an angry red welt staring back at him in the mirror. A crescent just under his right eye that’s sure to leave a nasty bruise in the morning. There’s gash on his brow, a split in his bottom lip that he keeps opening every time he runs his tongue over it… Fred can’t even remember the last time he’s had a split lip. Maybe it was when he was 8 and tripped on the playground, bit into it as his chin hit the ground. But this one isn’t his own doing.

Fred’s always considered himself more of a lover than a fighter, which is why he generally tried charming his way out of situations before they escalated. It had done good for him so far, but Alice Smith had always said one of these days his luck was going to run out. He figured maybe that would be true, one day, somewhere in the very distant future. 

The very distant future turned out to be today.

Fred’s sexuality had long been fodder for his classmates, going back to when everyone discovered what _queer_ was and how it was generally frowned upon in society. Fred had never been out, but he was never exactly _in_ , either. No one really knew what to make of him, and that made it so much worse. 

His never-ending stream of dates with seemingly every girl in town (and the next town, and two towns over) did a lot to kill suspicions, but there were always the guys hellbent on bringing up (or starting) every rumor about Fred getting caught in Fox Forest (which, sure, maybe he frequented), Fred blowing some shortstop from Baxter High at an away game (which happened ONE… or five… times), or that he got caught with a copy of Playgirl at school (which absolutely never happened. What kind of idiot brings porn to school?)

But then, of course, there was always his relationship with FP Jones.

They’d been inseparable since grade school, had instantly formed a weird codependency that everyone picked up on. Long before they even had their first kiss the rumor mill was working against them. Fred was always on the defensive, arguing that there was nothing wrong with two boys being close, because that’s what _friendship_ was, and it wasn’t his fault if guys like Marty Mantle or any of his other bullies were too big of losers to have any. 

FP took a different approach. He found himself an all new interest in girls and made sure to let everybody know about it. Over time he’d built himself a reputation as a “ladies man” and eventually found himself the BMOC, and it gave him enough leverage that people left him alone, and, by extension, Fred when they were together.

But FP wasn’t at school today, and that’s where things went south. 

The last bell of the day had long since rang, and while normally Fred liked to be one of the first people out the door, he had to stay after to make up a test. This left him alone in the hall, grabbing what he needed from his locker so he could finally get home.  
He’d been looking for his math book, one knee brought up so he could rest his backpack on, when someone shoved into him from behind, causing him to drop his things. 

“What the fuck?” Fred asked incredulously as he whipped around to see who’d just accosted him. He shouldn't have been surprised to see Marty Mantle standing there, looking smug as all hell with his arms crossed, obnoxiously chewing away on some gum. “What’s your problem, Mantle?”

“You’re in my way,” was the response Marty gave, loudly snapping his gum for emphasis.

Fred had looked around the obviously empty hallway and replied, “Yeah, somehow I doubt that.” He turned back around to finish gathering his things, hoped Marty would have taken the hint and left him alone. He didn’t.

“You know, Freddie-”

“Don’t call me that.”

Marty smiled, something reminiscent of a shark about to eat its prey, and leaned next to Fred on the lockers like it was the most casual thing in the world, like they were _friends_. “Something’s occurred to me lately.” Fred ignored him, didn’t take the bate. Marty continued anyway. “You’ve gone out with pretty much the entire female population of this school, and I’m just wondering how that’s possible.” Fred slammed his locker shut and finally gave Marty his attention, face bored and unwelcoming as he waited for the rest so he could leave. Marty leaned in ‘til he was in Fred’s face, smile growing more vicious as he flicked Fred’s chest and said “You know, since you’re such a _fag_.”

It wasn’t the first time that word’s been directed at Fred, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. But there was something about being alone in the hallway, knowing the classrooms around them were empty, that made his blood run cold. His body tensed like he was readying for a fight, even if he knew he had no chance up against a goddamn football player. He should have probably just ran. There had been a flashing moment of hope where he thought maybe he could at least make it down towards the front office before Marty caught up to him.

But Fred didn’t run. Instead, he did something really fucking stupid and said “Why don’t you ask your mom?” He regretted the words almost immediately. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he knew what came next. 

Marty was on him before he even had time to blink. Fred’s back hit the lockers and he winced when his head bounced off them. Marty’s fists were balled into the front of Fred’s shirt and the whole thing read like some cheesy after school special on the dangers of bullying. Fred would have laughed if his head hadn’t been screaming in pain. 

“Someone’s getting brave without their bodyguard around,” Marty sneered. He pulled Fred forward just to slam him into the lockers again.

Fred let out a groan, tried to push the other boy off him. “Fucking- Let me go, Marty!”

“Where is your boyfriend, anyway? Got tired of sucking your dick so he went off to find something better?”

“Why? You mad it’s not yours?”

That’s the second dumb thing that came out of Fred’s mouth.

He was thrown against the lockers again, and it was swiftly followed by a fist connecting with his jaw. Fred groaned, his head lulling to the side as he tried to get his wits about him.

“The fuck you just say to me?” Marty spat, fist raised in anticipation for the next smartass thing to come out of Fred’s mouth. 

Fred tasted the faintest bit of copper in his mouth as he licked his teeth. He thought maybe he should say sorry, but what was sorry gonna do? Marty had already decided he didn’t like him. He had this fight planned from the moment he walked over.

Fred juggled around the idea that maybe he could scream to get somebody’s attention, but Marty punched him square in the gut before Fred had the chance, knocking the wind right out of him, and he would’ve fell to his knees had the other boy not still had his fist clenched around Fred’s shirt.

“Jesus, Andrews,” Marty taunted as he straightened Fred up. “Bad enough you’re a queer, but you gotta be a pussy, too? Guess they go hand in hand.” He went to land another blow, but Fred managed to duck in time for Marty’s fist to meet metal.

It gave Fred enough leeway to knee Marty in the groin. He used the distraction to grab his bag and make a run for it. That should’ve been the end of it, he thought, but then he heard yelling behind him and his shirt was being pulled back, and then the side of his had was being slammed into the lockers and it hurt 10 times worse than before. 

Marty let him fall that time, kicked him a few times while he was down just for good measure. It wasn’t necessary. Fred had given up, the fight had left him. He could hear a voice yelling at him but his head was too foggy to catch anything distinct. His eyes squeezed shut trying to keep himself from crying, trying to just will it all away. 

When Marty had finally decided he had enough he just left Fred there, spat out a few more insults and just… walked away. Like it was nothing. Like _Fred_ was nothing.

Walking home had been a bitch. Everything ached, and on top of that he was dreading having to come face to face with his parents. There was no way in hell he could tell them what really happened, and the best lie he could come up with was that he tripped down the stairs. It seemed to placate them enough when Fred wouldn’t change his story after some pushing.

Looking at the damage now he doesn’t really know if the story’ll hold up at school tomorrow with everyone else. Maybe Marty’s already gone and bragged about taking down the queer kid to anyone who’ll listen so Fred won’t have to lie. It doesn’t really matter right now. His head hurts and he’s waiting for the aspirin to kick in while he holds a bag of frozen peas to his face.

His only goal for the rest of the night is bed, but as he enters his room and flips on the light he’s startled to find a figure already taking his place. 

It’s FP. 

_Shit_ , Fred thinks. He wasn’t planning on having to see him ‘til tomorrow. _This is bad._

Fred’s just kind of frozen in place watching as FP’s expression goes from relaxed and a little smug (he was definitely planning on a hook-up when he crawled through Fred’s window and sprawled out on top of his bed) to abject horror when his brain finally registers what his eyes are seeing. He’s up in an instant, heading straight towards Fred with his hands raised up like he wants to touch Fred’s face but thinks better of it once he’s up close and really sees the damage.

“Freddie…” FP breathes, his eyes glossy and searching. “What the hell happened?”

“I tripped.”

“You _tripped?_ ” FP sounds skeptical, and Fred’s praying to God he just goes with it. “Fred, you look like-” _me after a round with my dad,_ FP doesn’t say. 

“I’m fine,” Fred interjects, shrugging his shoulders like there’s absolutely nothing to worry about, tries to ignore the pull on his sore ribs. “Just clumsy.”

There’s a moment where FP seems to be deliberating something, and Fred’s nervous he won’t be believed, but then something settles on FP’s features and he nods his head. “Well then come here, you goof. I’ll take care of you.”

The tension in the room is squashed just long enough for FP to reach out and grab for Fred’s side, and just like that the mood shifts again. 

Fred didn’t move away fast enough, and even if he had, he thinks, it wouldn't have mattered anyway because that in itself would’ve been a dead giveaway. 

He winces as FP’s hand touches him and jerks away, earning a concerned “What the fuck?” from the other boy.

“It’s nothing,” Fred tries to argue. “I just-”

He’s cut off when FP reaches out to lift his shirt, and Fred can’t even look at FP to see his reaction. All he can do is back out of FP’s grip and pull his shirt back down and hope, by some miracle, there was nothing to see. 

A thick, heavy silence fills the space between them before Fred finally gathers the courage to make eye contact again. FP’s still staring down at Fred’s ribs, his lips pressed tight and jaw clenched. His breathing is heavy, and he’s got that look on his face like he wants to hit something.

“Who did this?”

“I told you. I fell.”

FP lets out a harsh breath through his nose, annoyed. “Fred.”

“FP.” If FP wants to be stubborn then fine. Fred can play too. 

The two teens are locked in a staredown, waiting to see who caves first. FP’s not gonna be satisfied until he’s given a target to settle this score, and Fred’s not going to be the one to do it. FP’s loyal, which, granted, is normally a great quality to have in a friend. The problem with FP’s particular brand of loyalty, however, is that it comes with a mean streak, and God help anyone who steps on the toes of anyone FP’s deemed worthy enough to keep in his circle. For as much as he tried to pass himself off as some basic North Side all-star, he was still South Side born and raised; it didn’t take much to bring out the fangs.

“Fine,” FP finally speaks. “Don’t tell me. I’ll find out some other way.” With his mind already made up he turns and starts making his way to Fred’s window, but is stopped by a tug on his jacket.

“FP, wait! _Fuck!_ ” Fred’s clutching his side, having put too much strain on his ribs when he reached out for his friend. 

It’s like all previous thoughts of revenge leave FP’s head once he hears Fred in distress. He turns, places his hand gently over Fred’s on his ribs like that’ll somehow ease the pain. “Shit, Freddie. You okay?” 

Fred can’t even stand upright, but he nods his head anyway as the other boy leads him over to the bed to lay down. The frozen peas are still in Fred’s other hand and FP gently removes them so he can rest them along the blossoming bruise on Fred’s side. 

“Keep those there. It’ll help.”

Fred tries not to dwell on the fact FP’s speaking from experience. He’d rather focus on the bed dipping beside him and the warmth he feels from FP’s body beside his that means he’s decided to stay. “You’re not gonna leave tonight, right?” He reaches over to place his hand on top of FP’s on the bag of peas. 

“Yeah,” FP says, eyes still drawn to Fred’s ribs. “I’m staying.”

Something settles in Fred just enough as he watches the steady movements of FP’s breathing. They’re deliberate, like he’s trying to keep himself calm. Fred knows that anger is still bubbling under the surface, and his thirst for revenge is far from gone, but at least he’s giving Fred the night not to worry.

Tomorrow will be a different story. Maybe he can convince FP to skip again, offer up a day in bed instead. It doesn’t really take a lot to convince FP Jones to ditch school, but Fred’ll have to pull out the big guns for this one. Optimistically he figures a full 24 hours locked away together in his room will be enough to shift FP’s thoughts. Realistically, however, Fred knows it’s a lost cause. 

While Fred doesn’t typically believe in violence as an answer, there is a tiny part of him that would like to see Marty Mantle get his ass handed to him. But the much larger part of him that doesn’t want to see FP get in trouble, or _worse_ , wants this to never come to blows.

He tries to swallow down the lump in his throat. He can’t think about this anymore tonight or it’ll eat him alive. FP’s here and they’re both safe. That’s what matters, and that’s the thought Fred drifts into sleep with.

\--

Fred wakes up the next morning to a splitting headache and an empty bed, the latter of which he doesn’t even register until he feels the draft from his open window and begins to remember the night before.

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit!”

In retrospect, Fred should’ve seen this coming. Of course FP would sneak out early to avoid any interference.

Fred looks at the clock by his bed. The school’s only been opened for half an hour. Surely that’s not enough time for FP to get any useful information…

He rushes to get dressed anyway, his aching body protesting the entire time. He skips breakfast just like he’s skipped a shower, despite his mother trying to get him to at least grab a piece of toast. His body is screaming at him the entire run to school to _slow down, stop, take it easy_ , but he blocks it out, pushes forward.

By the time he gets to school he feels like he’s going to pass out, thinks for a moment he might actually throw up, but he only gives himself a second to recuperate before he spots the back Hal Cooper and Alice Smith walking down the hall together. Maybe they can help. 

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Fred jogs up to the couple. 

Alice’s jaw drops the moment she lays eyes on Fred’s face. “What the hell happened to you?”

It takes Fred a moment. He hasn’t looked in a mirror since last night and in the rush that this morning has been he’s completely forgotten that he’s bearing the marks of yesterday’s fight. “I’m fine,” he lies, out of breath. “You guys haven’t happened to see FP around, have you?”

“No,” Alice passively answers before reaching her hand out to touch Fred’s forehead, obviously more interested in the state her friend’s in than FP’s whereabouts. “Should you even be at school right now? You look like shit.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Hal finally chimes in. “You’re looking a little green.”

“I’m fine.” Fred swats Alice’s hand away, a little annoyed. “I just need to find FP.”

Alice opens her mouth to say something, but is cut off by yelling and the sound of lockers being slammed against at the other end of the hallway. The trio all turn their heads in sync towards the ruckus. 

“Who the hell picks a fight this early in the morning?” questions Alice.

Fred immediately feels his stomach drop, and this time it has nothing to do with the exertion he’s just put his body through. He doesn’t need to look to know exactly what’s going on, but he still prays he’s wrong. He whispers _shit_ under his breath before he dashes down the hall, Alice and Hal hot on his heels while they’re trying to ask him what’s going on.

A crowd had already formed by the time Fred reached them, and he’s pushing his way through to get to the front. 

He freezes. 

It’s exactly the sight he expected, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. Fred doesn’t know _how_ FP found out, but there he is, on top of Marty Mantle, pummeling his face away. 

The closer Fred looks he can tell this fight was far from one-sided. FP’s face looks like it’s taken a couple of hits already, there’ll be some bruising to match along Fred’s, but FP’s got the upperhand now. 

He looks almost animalistic. His eyes have glazed over like he’s not even there, and something about it shakes Fred to his core. He’s only seen that look on FP’s face once before - he had gotten drunk after a fight with his dad and he was shaking with rage by the time Fred found him out by the river. _”I’m gonna kill him. I swear to God, Fred. One of these days…”_ FP’s entire body had been shaking like every cell within him was vibrating with the same rage he spoke with. It scared the shit out of Fred then, and it scares the shit out of him now.

Someone shoves Fred from behind trying to get a better view of the fight, and that’s what snaps him out of the memory. He’s lunging forward to get at FP, yelling and trying to pull him off the bloody mess of the teen underneath him. Even on Fred’s best day FP is still stronger than him. Factor in how banged up his body is and he stands no chance right now despite his best efforts. 

“Let me go, Fred!” FP growls, his fists still flying, but he makes no move to shove Fred off.

Fred’s holding FP around the waist trying to pull him back, pleading with him to stop, but nothing’s working. His eyes frantically scan the crowd for any sign of help and land on Hal, who’s standing next to Alice, matching grimaces on their faces (though Alice looks slightly more amused). “Hal! A little help?”

Hal seems to hesitate for a moment before he pushes forward and grabs a hold of one of FP’s arms mid swing. From there it’s a combined effort between him and Fred to get FP off the ground. 

The surrounding crowd starts to boo that their little show is over, but everyone soon starts running off in all directions once a group of teachers and Principle Featherhead come storming through. Fred wants to roll his eyes and ask what the hell took them so long, but he’s too busy keeping FP locked in a vise grip for anything else. 

“What is going on here?” Featherhead bellows.

Marty’s scrambling to his feet, stumbles a few times, probably from head trauma, Fred thinks. “He’s fucking crazy!” Marty yells, one hand holding his jaw, the other pointing wildly in FP’s direction.

FP lunges forward and it takes both Fred and Hal to hold him back. “Touch him again and I’ll show you fucking crazy!”

Fred doesn’t miss the way FP deliberately leaves his name out. 

“Both of you in my office, _NOW!_ ” Featherhead demands. “Andrews, Cooper, Smith, get to class.” 

The bell hasn’t even rung yet, but no one’s about to argue that point. 

Marty’s already protesting the oncoming punishment, but Featherhead’s not having it, yelling at the teen again to get to his office as they start to walk away.

FP’s still locked in Fred’s arms. His breathing is labored, but Fred doesn’t think it’s because he’s out of breath. FP’s like a bull behind a cage waiting to be let out. Fred thinks FP’s safer out here with him, away from Marty. But Featherhead’s not having it.

“Jones!” Featherhead calls. And then “Andrews, I said _get to class_!” 

Fred hadn’t even noticed Alice and Hal had already left, not that it matters. He comes around to FP’s front, keeping a steadying hand flat on FP’s chest. “You okay?” He means _Are you gonna be okay without me?_

FP’s looking off into the distance over Fred’s shoulder, like maybe he’s planning to rush Marty and get himself into even more trouble, but he looks down at Fred after a moment and nods. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later.”

There’s blood dripping down the corner of FP’s mouth that Fred wants to wipe away, but he stops himself. A touch like that is too intimate with the prying eyes of the student body on them, still hoping a round 2 breaks out. Fred’s not entirely sure he believes FP, but there’s not a whole lot he can do about it right now. So he just nods his head and steps aside, watches FP walk by, watches him walk down the hall to meet his fate, tries to ignore the lump in his throat and twist in his gut telling him this is all his fault.

\--

The rest of the day passes without Fred catching sight of FP, or Marty, for that matter, again. He guesses it was to be expected. No way were they getting away with a fight without a suspension. But still, Fred’s nerves had been on high the whole day.

He tried calling FP immediately after school but hung up when it was Senior who answered. And going down to the South Side wasn’t an option, especially knowing FP’s dad was home.

So he does the next best thing: heads over to Pop’s and takes a seat in one of the booths with a full view of the door hoping that FP comes in. 

He’s gone through two baskets of fries when the bells above the door chime. People have been coming in and out since he got there, none of them being his friend, so he’s not exactly hopeful this time around. He’s been slumped forward, arm outstretched so he can rest his head on his bicep while he fiddles with the remaining fries, but this time when he looks up he sees exactly who he’s been looking for, and he perks up immediately. Sitting up straight, Fred calls out to FP, waving him over. 

FP’s got his hands stuffed in the pockets of his letterman as he approaches, slips in to the booth on the opposite side of the table. He’s got a split lip and the skin around his eye has reddened, but beyond that Fred thinks he looks pretty good all things considering. 

“So what’s the damage?” Fred asks.

“Two weeks suspension.” FP shrugs it off like it’s no big deal. “Coach is gonna be pissed he’s losing two players but…”

“Shit, FP. You didn’t have to-”

“Yes,” FP cuts Fred off. “I did.” His eyes are locked on Fred’s, holding him down with a stare, and his voice is so stern and sure that it leaves no room for argument.

“What did Featherhead have to say?” Fred tries instead. 

FP rubs at his jaw. “Wanted to know what the fight was about.” 

Fred goes a little rigid then. “And?”

“I didn’t mention you, don’t worry.”

Fred settles back into his seat then. He’s not sure if that’s supposed to make him feel better or not, wonders if maybe FP would’ve gotten a lighter sentence if Featherhead knew why he snapped. Though, maybe it was best not to risk it. So he settles on just thanking FP, and FP nods in return like _Of course_.

They sit in silence for a moment. Fred’s watching FP, who’s looking off somewhere to Fred’s right, tongue poking out and playing with the gash on his lip. Fred thinks FP would be reaching for a smoke right now if he could, but Pop’s already yelled at him a hundred times about smoking in his diner, and FP finally seems to have listened.

A stream of red starts to trickle down FP’s chin, and he must not even notice because he’s still got that far off look in his eyes. 

“F,” Fred says, voice soft but worried. FP finally turns his attention back to the boy in front of him and raises his eyebrows in question. “You’re-” and Fred gestures to his own chin.

FP’s brows scrunch together for second in confusion before he registers what Fred’s telling him. He lifts a hand to his chin and feels the wetness, wiping his fingers upward and examining the blood that pools. “Shit,” he mumbles, and he’s hopping up out of the booth and heading for the bathroom.

Fred follows him, takes a quick glance around to make sure nobody’s watching before he slips inside and locks the door.

“What are you doing?” FP asks, already at the sink.

“Helping you clean up.” Fred walks over and takes the paper towel that’s already in FP’s hand and reaches behind him to turn the faucet on and wet it. FP doesn’t move, just stands with his back to the sink and watches Fred’s hand come towards his face, cleaning the blood off with gentle dabs to his skin. FP winces when Fred gets to the cut itself.

“Sorry,” Fred offers softly. 

“It’s okay.”

Fred’s hand lingers maybe a little longer than necessary. The tension between them is thick, and Fred’s not even sure he can pinpoint why. It’s not like FP being reckless is something new. Hell, FP being reckless on _Fred’s behalf_ isn’t even new. But he’s usually tried to distance himself whenever rumors of Fred’s sexuality started swirling, and now he’s gone and put himself in the direct line of fire. In a small town like Riverdale you don’t just get away with defending the queer kid without putting a target on your back. 

Fred wants to ask _why?_ Wants to know _why now?_ But he doesn’t ask. Instead, he lowers his hand and asks “How’d you know it was Marty?”

FP scoffs, rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. “Fucking moron wasn running his mouth. Didn’t take a lot of digging.”

Fred… doesn’t know what to do with that. It unsettles something in his stomach, knowing he got the shit beat out of him just for it to be bragged about around school. Part of him wants to ask what exactly Marty had been saying. Another part of him doesn’t want to know. 

His face must be giving away his unease because once FP’s eyes land on him again he looks concerned, reaches his hands up to cup either side of Fred’s jaw and smooths them up and down to comfort him. “Hey, it’s okay. You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Fred laughs, but it comes out wetter than he expected and lacks any real humor. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Hey,” FP says with that same sureness from before, calling Fred’s gaze forward. “Marty Mantle, or any other bastard in this shithole, is never laying a hand on you again. I promise.”

Fred doesn’t know how FP can promise such a thing, but there’s something about the look in his eyes that tells him not to question it.

He reaches up to hold one of the hands cradling his face, runs a soothing thumb over FP’s knuckles and feels them already starting to scab. He pulls the hand down, examines it to see the extent of the damage he hadn’t noticed before with them tucked away in FP’s jacket.

Fred runs his fingers over the wounds delicately so as not to inflict any pain, and the weight of what FP did, did _for him_ , suddenly lands. It’s like the wind’s knocked out of him, and he inhales a shaky breath as he lifts the battered hand to his lips to place a kiss on the bloodied skin. 

“Why’d you do it?” Fred finally asks, whispers it into the back of FP’s hand. “Why risk it?”

“I thought it was obvious.” There’s something unsure in FP’s voice now, almost like he’s scared. Maybe he is. “I’m not gonna let anyone get away with hurting you. I lo-” He pauses, shifts on his feet a little. “I love you too much for that.”

There’s an audible intake of breath on Fred’s part, his eyes going wide and doing that puppy dog thing that always leaves FP feeling a little weak-kneed. His lips curl up into a smile, mouth hanging a little open in surprise. 

“Oh, come on, Fred,” FP says, trying to go for casual, but his shoulders go a little tense. “It’s not like you didn’t know.”

Fred’s still smiling. “No, I knew. It’s just- You’ve never actually said it out loud before.”

A blush is creeping up FP’s cheeks as he looks away. Fred can’t stop staring at him. “Yeah. Well…” FP doesn’t really know what to say after an admission like that, isn’t exactly known for being in touch with his feelings. 

Fred doesn’t really mind, because with FP it’s never about what he _says_ but about what he _does_. 

There’s a part of him that thinks maybe he should be mad that one of the things FP _does_ is go out of his way to beat people up to a bloody pulp but… One glimpse in the mirror at his own battered face and suddenly Fred loses any sympathy he might’ve had for his attacker.

He leans forward to press his lips to FP’s, careful not to open up the gash again. It turns out a little sloppy, Fred only kissing half of FP’s mouth, and it must feel ridiculous to the both of them because it doesn’t take long before they’re bursting into a fit of giggles.

FP falls forward, forehead resting against Fred’s shoulder and Fred in turn wraps his arms around the other boy. “God, look at us,” FP teases. He turns his head so his face is buried in the crook of Fred’s neck.

“A couple of schmucks,” Fred laughs. 

“What’d you learn that from Mary?”

“Maybe.” 

Fred can feel FP’s smile, warm breath against his neck as FP laughs.

It’s strangely calm, just the two of them standing alone in the diner bathroom. Fred looks at their reflection in the mirror, takes in the curve of FP’s back because he has to hunch down just enough to rest on Fred. He watches the way he brings his own hand up to the back of FP’s neck and rakes his fingers through FP’s hair, catches his own smile when FP purs against his skin.

“I love you, too, you know.” Fred’s voice drifts softly into FP’s ear.

“I know.” FP pulls back so he can look at Fred. The bruises on Fred’s face have gotten darker, a galaxy of blues and purples scattering around his cheek and eye. Something burns in FP’s chest again, makes him want to tear the whole town apart, like going after Marty wasn’t enough. 

He settles for something softer. Presses his lips to the bruises so lightly that Fred barely feels it. Trails kisses down ‘til his mouth lands on Fred’s. They’re not as careful as before, but it’s alright. If his lip never healing is the price FP has to pay for kissing Fred, he can more than live with that.

There’s a sudden pounding on the door that breaks them apart. They look to the source, then back at each other, eyes gone wide and nervous. 

“ _Shit_ ,” FP curses under his breath. How are they supposed to explain locking themselves in the bathroom?

“Just a second!” Fred shouts, and it’s like he’s read FP’s mind because he’s already putting a plan into action. He grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser and hands them over to FP, says “Put these over your nose and tilt your head back.”

“What?”

“Just do it!”

“Alright! Jesus… so pushy,” FP teases, and Fred sends him a look, but he’s smiling anyway.

Fred unlocks the door, guides FP forward by the small of his back, and apologizes to the guy who’s been waiting. “Sorry about that. Nosebleed.” 

He shuffles FP, who’s trying to hide his laughter, out the diner and remembers, once they’re in the parking lot, that he never actually paid for his fries. It’s fine, he decides. Pop can put it on his tab.

“So what do you wanna do now?” FP asks, throwing the wad of paper towels aside. 

Fred looks around, shrugs. “We could go back to my house. Somebody’s gotta tend to your wounds.”

“Yeah?” FP smirks, nods at Fred. “You, too.”

“So… we could tend to… each other’s wounds…” Fred’s trying to sound innocent, but FP doesn’t miss the little devious glint in his eye. 

FP laughs as he walks over to Fred and slings his arm around his shoulders. The pair start heading off in the direction of Fred’s house. “Your mom’s gonna flip when she sees me.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and she won’t be home yet.”

FP scoffs and reaches for his pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, pulls one out with his teeth. “Fat chance.”

“Maybe if we just… walk by her real fast she won’t notice.”

FP grins around his smoke, looks to Fred with his eyebrows raised like he _knows_ Fred knows how ridiculous that sounds as he brings his lighter up to the stick.

“Yeah, okay,” Fred concedes, a chuckle passing his lips. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.” He claps FP on the back, fingers curling into the fabric of FP’s jacket. “We always do.”

“Yeah,” FP agrees, tilting his head to blow out smoke to the side, his eyes never leaving Fred’s. “We always do.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos much appreciated to cure me of the depression ive been left in since stranger things killed off ***** *******   
> (with all the name dropping of stranger things i have done you would think this fic had anything to do with it... idk if the world is ready for strangerdale but i digress)


End file.
